


how the future is done

by beardsley



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-10 00:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beardsley/pseuds/beardsley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Team America and an evening of strip Monopoly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how the future is done

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Feist.

It's not a scheduled thing, mostly because trying to schedule anything around Steve's space adventures and other superheroic crap would be a nightmare. They tried once, at Sam's urging, to set up a bi-weekly movie night. Bucky was the only one who kept showing up, and since Sharon always swore up and down that she'd pick the movies Bucky spent those nights alone on the couch, sulking as he listened to Steve's boring modern MP3 collection.

Scheduling doesn't work, not in their line of work. These days, movie night is every night when the four of them are in the apartment together — usually with someone nursing bruised ribs and cracked bones. Movie night is supposed to be a recuperation thing, though if Bucky is being honest he much prefers the _other_ recuperation thing, the one that includes what Sam generously dubs puppy piling.

So since scheduling doesn't work, Bucky isn't sure how one night a week they always end up sprawled on the floor with a Monopoly board between them, playing for high stakes — high stakes in this case being clothing.

Bucky isn't sure how it happens; what he's sure of is that he likes it.

'You cheating dog,' says Sam, impressed, as both dice stop at six. 'There is no way you just did that.'

Bucky grins. 'There is, and I did. No jail can hold me, didn't you know that?' He's about to roll the dice again when Steve grabs his wrist, and raises his eyebrows.

Shit.

'That trick might've worked on the boys in the trenches,' Steve says. 'I'm gonna give you one chance to roll again and do it _fair_ , Buck, and if you try to cheat I'm gonna lock you out on the fire escape.'

Bucky sighs and rolls the dice fairly. It doesn't work, and he glares at his stupid tiny racecar where it stands alone on the board square marked as 'jail'. 

'I think this calls for a penalty,' Sharon announces, to a general hum of agreement. She crosses her arms over her chest, which would be more imposing if she weren't stripped down to a Hello Kitty undershirt and boxers. 'Drop your kit, Bucky.'

'Not while I still have _this_.' He glares at Sharon and tugs off his right sock. She pouts. 'Yeah, right. No way you're getting to see my junk before I see yours. Not happening.'

Sharon sniffs. 'Why, scared I'll bite it off?'

Bucky opens his mouth to sass her right back when, 'Children,' Steve and Sam bark at the same time. Bucky slumps down.

'You're so whipped,' Sharon mouths at him. He gives her the finger, which gets him Steve's elbow to the ribs. Strip Monopoly isn't something Bucky is sure exists outside of their apartment, but as far as Steve is concerned, it's serious business and all rules need to be observed and there shall be no cheating.

Still, Bucky is determined to get everyone naked as soon as possible. The gin might not be enough to get all of them going — and it sure as hell is wasted on Steve — but it's better than nothing, and Bucky can see that the line of Sam's shoulders is relaxed for once and Sharon smiles in such a sweet, unguarded way that would horrify her if she knew.

Steve doesn't have to get tipsy to unwind; he unwinds watching Sam, Sharon and Bucky do it. He reacts to them. He's — hell, he's the sun the three of them orbit around, the brightest point in their lives pulling them together with the relentless force of gravity. When he's feeling sentimental and sappy, Bucky is so pathetically glad Steve is real. Without him Bucky doubts he, Sam and Sharon would ever even look at one another twice — but with him, they're a team.

They're a family.

The gin burns pleasantly in the pit of Bucky's stomach. Screw the game, he decides; he's got priorities. He leans over the Monopoly board, not caring that he knocks over Sharon's tiny terrier, and fists his hand in the front of Steve's t-shirt to pull him close. Steve smiles against his mouth, impossibly warm, and the kiss is unhurried and easy and Bucky grins when Sharon wolf-whistles.

'Is that supposed to be an apology?' Steve asks, inching back a little.

Bucky shrugs. 'Might be.'

Steve presses another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. 'It's a good apology,' he decides.

' _Thank_ you,' says Bucky, rolling his eyes. He pushes himself off to sit back on his heels, and Steve's forlorn expression makes him smile. His smile widens when he sees Sharon already tugging her undershirt off, getting tangled in it, and Sam watching the three of them, eyes bright and soft with the game lying forgotten between them.

It's a short way to the bedroom, marked by laughter and clothes being dropped to the floor, by Sharon's low gasps when Steve kisses the back of her neck and Steve's own pleased noises when Sam slides his hands down his sides to sneak them into Steve's underwear. Bucky gets distracted halfway through when Steve palms his dick through his briefs and Bucky considers just sinking to his knees right there, but before he can Sam pulls at his hair to come along.

It's not a scheduled thing; scheduling doesn't work, not with them. It's not like movie night, and it's one of the few occasions when all of them are together in the apartment — when all of them are together at home. Sometimes Bucky feels selfish; it feels greedy to want not one, not two but three people without having to decide who to choose, or worrying if anyone would choose _him_. But that's sometimes.

Most days, Bucky is glad as hell that he gets to live for the three people he'd give his life for; he's glad as all hell that they chose him and keep choosing him and that he's never a fifth wheel; he's glad as all hell for this second chance, or this blessing, or absolution or whatever this is. He's glad.

Tomorrow morning he'll wake up tired and sore and probably more than a little aching, because Sharon's mission in life is to match Steve's super-stamina and because Sam and Steve taking turns (a team effort, they call it with identical smug grins) always leave Bucky with liquid bones, begging for more even when he knows he'll be paying for it the next day.

Tomorrow morning he'll wake up with his legs tangled with Sharon's, with his head pillowed on Sam's stomach, with Steve's fingers in his hair.

He'll wake up and know this is what home feels like.


End file.
